Cold
by Missy Jade
Summary: JRBabe... In the end, there's nothing she can say to him... Angst, oneshot


_**Cold:**_

_Looking back at me I see_

_That I never really got it right_

_I never stopped to think of you_

_I'm always wrapped up in_

_Things I cannot win_

_You are the antidote that gets me by_

_Something strong_

_Like a drug that gets me high_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_To you I'm sorry about all the lies_

_Maybe in a different light_

_You could see me stand on my own again_

_Cause now I can see_

_You were the antidote that got me by_

_Something strong like a drug that got me high_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_I never really wanted you to see_

_The screwed up side of me that I keep_

_Locked inside of me so deep_

_It always seems to get to me_

_I never really wanted you to go_

_So many things you should have known_

_I guess for me there's just no hope_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_What I really meant to say_

_Is I'm sorry for the way I am_

_I never meant to be so cold_

_- Crossfade; "Cold" _

The dream state is a bitch, one that leaves me with memories of what did happen and what _could_ have. They're clear, and the thing is, dreams fade, at least, mine always did.

But these don't. They stay, lodged in the front of my brain, pressing into my sight all day long.

When I clean tables, when I pour drinks, when I usher the drunks out of the bar, trying to ignore all the true things they say.

Nothing I do, nothing I say helps.

_Jamie…_

He's a sweet boy, but… he's a boy. And that, right there, is it, is the whole point.

I stopped being a girl when I saw Momma getting out an extra night in that hotel. A way that didn't involve money, but got the job done. I'll remember it until the day I die, until the day I finally get to stop walking around and lying to myself.

The noises are still clear, the grunts and the gasps and that totally believable "Oh, Bill!" at the end.

I learned something, learned that when you have nothing left, you have something.

Now, I sit behind the bar or at the place or in the mansion and I see what I did wrong. But you know what they say, foresight is 20/20. And mine certainly is.

I did it, you know, I'm the reason JR's the man he is.

That's what keeps me awake at night, after Jamie's blissfully asleep in his perfect world of good and bad, chivalrous knights and evil dragons. One day, it'll crack, that little dream world of his, a little world of heroes and villains, cowboys and Indians. It's that little world that Tad is trying to protect.

He couldn't protect JR's little world, so he's gonna protect Jamie's… at the price of JR.

I see him, watching me, sitting at the bar when the place is empty, nursing his tequila. Hell, JR owns it, but even though Jamie does know that, read the name Chandler on it…

JR watches me, and he drinks and it isn't about the alcohol, it's about the fact that this is where I am.

Other people would see it as cocky but I know him, because once upon a time, he let me. He sits and he watches because he's waiting.

Sometimes, I wonder what he's waiting for. But other times, after I finally take the whiskey he pours me, after my brain loosens up, I see it where other people see nothing. Those big blue eyes of his, fathomless, empty… unless you know where to look. Now, after my chance has passed, I finally _get_ him, you know?

_After._

There, under all the hate and guilt and desperation and hunger and need, it's there. All of what he offered me. All of himself, there, for my taking. We don't really have to talk, but I want to try, maybe try to justify why I couldn't love him. Because that's what he's waiting for, you know.

He sits and he waits to understand why… why I couldn't love him enough to trust in him, to just be there and not want. Because he gets what I didn't until that night him and Amanda were together. He knows I was there, watching, not able to leave.

Even though I do love him, always will, until the day I die and go to Hell, it wasn't that love that kept me with him for all those months… it was my guilt.

And guilt isn't love; Hell, guilt doesn't know the meaning of love.

But love sure as Hell knows guilt, doesn't it?

One day, I'll walk down the aisle, and marry Jamie, and we'll have all kinds of little innocent boys and girls.

But I'll still want my real husband, the one who sits now, watching as I pour him another shot.

I want to get him drunk, just drunk enough not to look at me the way he does. The way he always will. Drunk enough to pull me to him, wrap his arms around me, hold me and let himself enjoy what we used to. But he knows what I want, and he's just smarter like that. And he leaves that one drink there, waltzing out, showing me that he sees it.

He wants to be done with me. For me to just let him go and just stop, but I can't just let it all go, can't just let it all stop. Even if I _did_ want to, I can't. I'm in his blood, in his bone, in his muscles and tendons and all those other nice things that other rich boys don't have. He wants to hate me, but he can't. He still wants me, however he can have me, even if it's a surge of heat and movement against the bar.

Because he can't hate me, he hates himself. And I hate myself for making him like this.

That night, last week, we were close, and he had his hand on my leg, and it was warm through the cloth of my black slacks. And then there were hands up my back, lifting my top and he was kissing me and if I hadn't hesitated, had just gone with what I wanted…

But I'd hesitated and he'd realized what he was doing and I was left leaning against the bar, looking down and waiting to die. And he was gone.

Now, he sits and he watches and he waits for me to explain why… so that just maybe, we can do what we want and he can stop having to make himself wait. He wants me, I want him, we want what is right there, waiting for us.

But he wants an answer and I want to go back in time and stay home that night, both of those fucking nights and I'm too fucking cowardly to just say what he knows in his heart. And the thing we both want is moving away, fading like the dreams should.

And I never meant for this, I never meant to do this, I never meant to be so cold.

_Finis_


End file.
